


Christmas Passing Through

by MickyRC



Series: Star of Wonder Ineffable Advent [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Holidays, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Music, M/M, canon-typical religious themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: Aziraphale couldn't imagine anything lovelier than sitting in the dark under a Christmas tree with his love.  So much so that he's decided he never wants to give it up, as long as Crowley says yes.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Star of Wonder Ineffable Advent [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559308
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs





	Christmas Passing Through

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of my Star of Wonder advent calendar, in which each day's fic is inspired by a song from my favorite Christmas album, The Roches' _We Three Kings._ It's also going up on tumblr [over here!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/micky-r-c)

“Look at that.”

“Hmm? What was that, darling?”

“Just…” Crowley shifted his arm, wrapping himself closer to his angel. “Just _look_ at this. Isn’t it just….”

Aziraphale followed his gaze and hummed, sinking back against Crowley’s chest. “Yes. It is.”

He’d always put a Christmas tree in the shop, done up with muted gold ornaments and bits of silver ribbon. But he’d never really thought of lighting it until Crowley brought it up; that was a fairly new thing, after all, and “new” wasn’t usually what Aziraphale went in for. But Crowley had bought warm white lights, the ones with the round glass bulbs that look so wonderfully vintage. Their soft gleam caught on the painted ornaments in subtle patterns, and lit up the yawning caves between branches like firelight. And it was unspeakably lovely to sit in just the glow of the tree, curled together on the sofa, the rest of the world lost in shadow and soft darkness.

“Who would have thought?” Aziraphale murmured, as Crowley pressed his face into his shoulder. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, soft and warm and shining like copper in the tree light. “All those centuries ago, who would have thought we could end up here?”

“I didn’t even think I’d make it through that night.” Aziraphale scoffed, which just made Crowley pull closer to peer at him around his shoulder. “Come on, angel, can you blame me? It was _weird._ ”

“I cannot _believe_ you’re calling the Nativity _weird._ ”

“It _was,_ though. All I knew was this was supposed to be the king of all bloody creation, son of the Almighty, all of that. And then here’s this kid, no, no crown, not even a _halo,_ and you’re telling me this is the one who’s gonna make the world new?”

“Hmm. I guess I see your point. Although that rather _was_ the point, that he was just another everyday person.”

“Yeah, well I know that _now,_ but back then I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Aziraphale hummed again. He tugged at Crowley’s arm, gently nudging him closer. The demon happily complied, wrapping his arms around the angel’s chest and settling his chin on his shoulder. “Do you know now?”

“Know what?”

He tipped his head to rest against Crowley’s, temple to temple. “Do you know what to do with it now?”

Crowley thought for a moment, absentmindedly twisting his fingers in Aziraphale’s jumper. “Dunno. Don’t think I really care, though, anymore.” He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Really?”

He felt Crowley shrug behind him. “I don’t need to. Now I’ve got you.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his own chest, covering Crowley’s hands with his. The demon started pressing more kisses to his shoulder, moving gently up his neck in an overwhelming shower of affection. When he reached his ear, Aziraphale turned and met his lips with his own. The kiss was sweet and chaste, and after a moment they let their heads rock forwards to rest their foreheads together, noses bumping between them.

“Here,” Aziraphale said, pulling away and leaning forward, and Crowley made no move to follow or protest, content in the certainty that his angel would come back to him. And so he did, holding a little square box covered in silver and gold striped paper. He settled down with his side to Crowley, so he could face him more easily and still settle an arm around his shoulders.

“Angel, you didn’t have to—”

“Shh, love. It’s not about have to.”

“’S not even Christmas yet.”

“What’s a few hours? It’s Christmas somewhere.” Crowley humpfed, but he took the box, and Aziraphale couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss his cheekbone. “I love you.”

Crowley gently butted his head against his jaw. “I love you, too.”

He unwrapped the paper gingerly, like he thought if he pulled the paper too hard the contents would tear as well. Aziraphale watched him the whole time, saw in his eyes the moment he opened the box. Inside, settled neatly on a piece of packing cotton, was a small brass key.

“There’s a little cottage, off in the south,” he said, even as Crowley kept staring at the key. “I’ve had it for a while, actually, as a sort of, precaution.” He reached out and set his fingers on Crowley’s chin, tipping his head up to look at him. His eyes were wide, shining just the same color as the ornaments on the tree. “I’d like it not to be, anymore.”

Crowley’s voice was quiet, and almost reverent. “Not to be what?”

Aziraphale took a breath. “A precaution.”

Crowley swallowed, and glanced down at the box again. When he turned back up, his face was so full of hope it almost broke him. “What would it be, then?”

“A choice.” Aziraphale set his hand on top of Crowley’s, over the box. “And a—a home, maybe?”

There was too much light in Crowley’s eyes for it all to be coming from the tree. He picked up the key, turned it over in his hand, ran his thumb across the ridges. “I’d—yeah. Yeah.” He stared at it for another moment, and squeezed it, pressing its pattern into his palm. Then he dropped it into the box, tossed the box onto the floor, and turned to Aziraphale, reaching up to place his hands on his cheeks, his face enraptured. “Anywhere,” he nearly whispered. “Anywhere with you, angel.”

Anywhere, that night, was in the bookshop, on the sofa, under the tree. The next day, it was in the park, bundled up and listening to the carolers, Aziraphale in a new tie and Crowley with a new pair of soft gloves. And the next month, it was in hardware stores and stacks of cardboard boxes.

And the next year? The next year, anywhere was in a little cottage, off in the south, where they could just hear the waves hitting the shore, if they were quiet enough. Anywhere was on the sofa, under the tree. Anywhere was right there, with a long arm thrown over his shoulder and soft red hair between his fingers.

“Look at that, my love. Just look at that.”


End file.
